Worse than gay porn
by renrenren3
Summary: If there's something that scares Dean Winchester, it's fangirls. Who knows what they'll get up to next?  Warning: mentions of mpreg.


**Author's Note:** Written for prompt 31 (Mpreg) of a tombola; it's like the Italian version of bingo, only better. Mpreg is one of my two or three really big squicks. First I thought I'd never fill it, then I thought I could if I was very very drunk, then I got a sudden idea and wrote this thing. It goes without saying, but the thoughts of the characters are not my own. I don't like Mpreg but everyone has a right to write whatever they like. The fic referenced in the text is made up; if someone actually wrote a fic titled "My Precious Treasure", my apologies.

**Warning:** this fiction mentions a male character being pregnant.

-x-

"What are you looking at?" Dean asks from somewhere about three inches behind Sam's head, prompting his brother to jump in surprise and almost knock his laptop off the table.

"Dean," Sam says, trying and failing to act nonchalant. His throat seems to have gone quite dry. Dean watches him snap the laptop closed with an urgency he knows only too well. Usually it's not Sam the one who has to hide something in a hurry.

Dean stares at his brother for a second, then shakes his head. "Forget about it," he says, moving to the fridge and taking two beer cans. He tosses one to Sam and pops the other open. "I don't want to know about your porn-viewing habits."

He takes a swig of beer. Sam stares at him, then as his feet, then at the closed laptop, then at the beer. "Er," he says eventually, after a pause that lasts way too long. "It's not porn."

Dean pulls a face. "Dude, that's so not convincing," he says, sitting down at the table in front of Sam. What else would he be in such a hurry to hide?

"It's not porn," Sam insists, but he's not quite meeting Dean's eyes as he says so. Dean thought they were past the keeping-crap-secret-from-each-other part of their lives and he isn't itching to go back to Sam sneaking around behind his back.

"So?" Dean says, making a vague gesture towards the laptop. "You'd show me if it wasn't porn, right?"

Sam mumbles something unintelligible and tries to hide behind the beer.

"What was that?" Dean asks, leaning forward, and Sam repeats, this time loud enough for him to hear, "It's actually worse than porn."

Damn, now he's making Dean curious. What could be worse that porn? Sam's face is turning crimson with embarrassment, something that Dean hadn't seen happen ever since Dean was sixteen and had accidentally walked in on Sam getting intimately acquainted with his right hand.

"Whatever it is, you know you can tell me," Dean says, drinking the last of his beer and tossing the empty can in the bin. When Sam doesn't reply, Dean starts ticking off options. "Is it... very kinky porn?" he asks. "Bondage porn? Gay porn?"

Sam flinches at the last one and Dean's eyebrows go way up. "Dude, are you looking at _gay porn?_"

"I'm not!" Sam exclaims, but Dean is too used to Sam hiding stuff from him so he just stares at him and shakes his head disbelievingly.

In the end, Sam sighs and opens his laptop again. "It's not gay porn," he repeats in a quieter tone as he enters the password to unlock the screen. "Mostly."

Dean is about to ask him what the hell he meant with that, but he's distracted when Sam turns the laptop around to show him the screen.

At first he thinks that Sam is playing some prank on him or switched whatever he was looking at earlier with this picture. There's no way Sam would have tried to hide this so badly. It's just a pastel drawing of two guys standing in front of a house. It's sort of ugly, okay, but Dean is not exactly an artist either so he wasn't going to comment on Sam's lack of taste.

He's about to ask who the people in the picture are when Sam says, "Becky emailed it to me," and then it all makes sense. Now that he looks more carefully at it, the trench coat in the picture is unmistakable.

"Is this supposed to be Castiel?" Dean asks, leaning forward to get a better view of the image. What he'd supposed was a sort of cloak are probably the angel's wings, or at least the idea of what angel wings should look like for someone who's never seen angel wings before. "I thought Chuck wasn't going to write any more of the Winchester gospel."

Sam leans back in his chair, still looking ill at ease. "From what I heard, another publisher picked up the Supernatural series. After the apocalypse failed to happen, he was in bad need of money." He shrugs. "You can guess the rest."

Dean pulls a face, still staring at the drawing. "So his readers got introduced to Castiel, the douchebag angel," he says. He taps a finger against the screen, ignoring that it always irks Sam when his screen is full of fingerprints. "Did Becky draw this?"

His brother grimaces. "No, a friend of her did," he says. He looks away, suddenly fascinated by a spot on the ceiling. "She, er, wanted to know if it was a good likeness."

Dean snorts. "Long blond hair?" he asks, pointing at one of the figures. "They seriously think that Cas looks like this?"

The more he looks at it, the more this picture seems ridiculous. Not that Dean has ever seen Castiel's wings either, but he thinks they probably shouldn't look quite so rounded and puffy. It's ridiculous to think that Cas could actually walk around with these attached on his back.

Sam nods glumly. "Chuck is still not giving them many descriptions, so they've used, er, artistic licences." He shakes his head and gives a small laugh, though it comes out sounding more like a death rattle. "And the, er, the person next to Cas is you," he adds.

"Really?" Dean asks, squinting. It doesn't look like him at all. In the picture he's much shorter than Cas, and besides...

"That can't be me, I look _so_ fat," he laughs. If anything, he's sure Chuck didn't immortalize him as a short guy with a beer gut. Besides, weren't his fangirls supposed to idolize him or something? "Why did Becky's friend draw me so fat?"

He looks up at Sam, who sighs and stares at the ceiling again. "You're not fat," he says in a strangely flat tone. "You're pregnant."

There's one of those silences in which Dean tries to figure out just how his life is trying to screw him this time. Dean stares at Sam. "Pregnant?" he says, almost chocking on the word. Sam stares at the ceiling.

Dean looks at the screen again, and sure enough if he looks at it now he can see it looks sort of like a baby bump. Which, wait a moment, doesn't make any sense whatsoever. "Pregnant?" he repeats, his voice shaking a little.

He looks at the topmost edge of the picture. The file is named myprecioustreasure3 dot jpg and this doesn't do anything to help calming Dean. "_Pregnant_?" he repeats again, just in case it hadn't been clear the first two times.

Sam clears his voice. "It seems that, er, Becky and her friends organized, er, a _big bang_ to celebrate the new Supernatural novel," he says.

"A big bang," Dean repeats dully. His brain is still on an infinite loop saying _pregnant pregnant pregnant_. "What's that? Does that involve blowing things up?"

"No," Sam replies. "From what I got it's this online thing where everyone writes a very long story about us and then someone else draws art for their story."

There are lots of things that Dean would like to say at this point, such as _'people really have too much time to waste'_ or _'this crap isn't art'_ but his brain is still stuck on _pregnant pregnant pregnant_ so he decides to go with, "Why the hell am I pregnant in this drawing?"

"Er," Sam says. And then, very quickly, he says, "Because Becky wrote a fic in which Cas gets you pregnant."

Dean is suddenly regretting this conversation very much. This is by far worse than gay porn. "That's _sick_," he manages, staring dully ahead of him.

"I know, right?" Sam says, but Dean can see an amused smile hidden behind his sympathetic expression.

Dean remembers the title of the picture and has a sudden suspicion. With a couple of clicks he's brought up the folder that the picture is in. "Dude!" he exclaims, and it's not enough to express all the horror and disgust and betrayal that he's feeling right now.

In half a second Sam is on his feet and is trying to take the laptop away from him, but Dean has already seen enough. "You've read that thing," Dean says, giving Sam a disgusted look, and it's not as if Sam can argue since he had myprecioustreasure dot doc open on his desktop and he was more than halfway through it. "And there's even more pictures!"

"I wouldn't look at those if I was you," Sam says quickly, shutting the laptop again.

Dean gives him a look. "Dude, I just saw a picture of _myself_ being _pregnant_," he says. "What could be worse than that?"

"Er," Sam says. "Er. Pictures of the, er, conception?"

Which, good point, that's one mental image that Dean really didn't want. Ever. Thank you, Sammy. "Dude," he repeats. "Sick."

"Look at it this way," Sam says. "At least Becky's stopped writing porn about us."

"Yeah," Dean replies hoarsely. "Now she's writing... she's writing porn about _me and Cas_, that makes it so much better. And she's making me pregnant!"

Because maybe Sam hasn't realized it but it's sort of a sore point with him. It's not Sam the one who gets to be drawn with a damn baby bump. (P_regnant pregnant pregnant_...)

"Dude, it's just a fantasy," Sam says in what he probably thinks is a conciliatory fashion.

"Damn right it's a fantasy," Dean says. "Because dudes don't get pregnant. How would it even work anyway?" Even without his working knowledge of human anatomy that he needs to dissect the occasional body, Dean knows very well that you need a womb and ovaries and ladies' parts to have a baby.

His brother just coughs uncomfortably. "I think," he says, and then shuts down abruptly.

"Sam!" Dean exclaims, because as much as he doesn't want to have this conversation he just can't stop himself from asking. It's like picking at a particularly nasty scab.

Sam sighs and then says, so quietly that Dean would have missed it if he hadn't been holding his breath, "Assbabies."

"What?" Dean asks, wishing he could erase the last few minutes from his brain forever.

"Assbabies," Sam repeats, and then unhelpfully proceeds to add, "because, er, you're taking it up the ass from Castiel so the baby comes out of your..."

"Dude," Dean all but screams. He's pretty sure everyone in the motel has heard him and they'll probably get a complaint from the manager again, but at the moment he couldn't give a flying fuck. He understood it perfectly well the first time around and really doesn't want the details to be expanded upon.

"I'm not taking it up the ass from Castiel," he says, giving Sam the look of death. "Did not and never will. And I'm certainly not having his angelic assbabies."

His mental loop of _pregnant pregnant pregnant_ halts for a moment and then starts again, louder than ever, this time with _pregnant with assbabies!_ which really isn't something that Dean ever wanted to think about, much less with him in a starring role.

This doesn't make any sense. Fangirls don't make any sense. Why in hell would he let _Cas_ fuck _him_? The blasted angel hadn't even been able to lose his virginity in a brothel. Besides if there had to be babies it would have been more logical to make Cas pregnant since his angel mojo would have taken care of the ovaries' bit.

It's when Sam gives Dean a weird look that he realizes he's said that last part out loud. "Dude," Sam begins but Dean cuts him off. He's really not in the mood.

"We're going to a bar," he announces. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to get wasted. And then we're going to pretend this never happened and we'll never talk about it again. Especially," he adds while Sam nods gravely, "we never talk about this with Castiel. Never even mention it."

"Absolutely," Sam says. He makes sure to delete the myprecioustreasure folder and empty the trash bin before leaving the room.


End file.
